


but those words still break my bones

by diana_hawthorne (stsgirlie)



Category: Cracks (2009)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:43:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5336195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stsgirlie/pseuds/diana_hawthorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The school fades into a distant memory, now that she has left Stanley Island and her all-too-familiar surroundings. But memories, especially when repressed, have a way of coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but those words still break my bones

why does the mind do such things?  
turn on us, rend us, dig the claws in.  
if you get hungry enough, they say,  
you start eating your own heart.  
maybe it’s much the same.  
-margaret atwood

She feels part of herself die, now that she has left the safe world of her school. She is surprised no one else sees it, sees that she is maimed, walking wounded, equally as damaged as the soldiers from the Great War... and even more surprised that she is able now, finally (but it is necessary, and necessity, as her mother used to say, teaches nude women to spin) to go outside, to talk to people. She no longer trembles at human interaction.

This is growing-up.

• • •

 

She has enough money to live quite comfortably for the rest of her life – she never spent her salary when she worked at the school, and even though her parents left her penniless she has inherited quite a lot of money – hush money, blood money – from Di Radfield, her girl, her favourite until... but she cannot say her name yet, not yet – with a note begging her, imploring her to seek forgiveness.

But she travels instead, as she always claimed she had – to India and China and Egypt and Italy (not Spain, never Spain). She sees the world she has read about, and she believes she is happy at last. She can even believe that Fiamma had died by the other girls’ hands, that she could do nothing to save her. The school fades into a distant memory, now that she has left Stanley Island and her all-too-familiar surroundings.

But memories, especially when repressed, have a way of coming back.

• • •

 

It is in Kenya, nearly a year after she leaves, that the nightmares begin.

She is drowning, drowning, as she had almost drowned her once, no sound except the accusations Di had thrown so casually at her taunting her. She gasps, tumbling out of the bed and breathing heavily at last, the dry air of the desert reviving her.

And then they all come back to her, all her memories, leaving her exhausted and limp in the mornings, worn out from spending her entire night fighting demons.

These nightmares are quiet, insidious, leaving her screaming in her bed, the blankets around her neck like a noose. She sees her girls – her girls! – standing outside her door, accusations in their eyes and their sashes in their hands. Whatever had possessed her to choose red as their colour? The silk fabric falls to the floor like blood, staining her, marking her for eternity.

She is surprised that no one else sees the blood on her hands, for it is all she can see, filling her hours (both waking and dreaming) – the thick, viscous liquid tainting her.

She cannot travel any more, she cannot see people, she flinches away and hides. She has to go back, back to home, to her home, though she is no longer welcome there.

But Stanley Island is calling her, and she boards a train, a boat, another train, and finally the ferry, her heart leaping and her fear lessening when she sees the familiar coastline of the island through the fog.

That night, she sleeps peacefully.

And indeed every night after that is peaceful, even when she comes across Miss Nievan at the shops, or sees the all-too-familiar uniforms of the girls. She cannot hear the taunts any longer, cannot hear Fiamma’s words or Di’s or Poppy’s or any of the girls. The blood that stained her is scrubbed into oblivion. Her nightmares are tamed.

• • •

 

Di comes to visit, after the War, when they both have grown up. She invites her to tea, and she is able to, quite calmly, pour them both tea and bring out the treats she has purchased in advance at the general store. She brings up Fiamma.

‘The truth is,’ she says, ‘she seduced me. At fourteen she was no virgin. She knew how to go about it, I assure you. She was such an exasperating brat, after all, and yet...’

When she says this, she does not even bat an eyelash, even though Di cries out as though a knife has gone through her heart.

After Di leaves, her shocked exclamation still seeming to reverberate in the air, she shrugs. Did she expect her to lie? She told her the truth. She always tells the truth.


End file.
